


luck (im all out)

by luxeberries



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti-Witcher Sentiments, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Imprisonment, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Just a sprinkle, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Starvation, Minor Character Death, Oh wait, Poisoning, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Vomiting, i dont know what else to tag this w...., mostly angst, nothing gory i promise, theres no violence. mostly just mean words from big meanie man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxeberries/pseuds/luxeberries
Summary: "I want to stay lucky.He won't. Destiny is kind that way- always giving Geralt shit. Down south, in Sodden, there's a contract for a big, nasty nest of graveirs. He finds the post on a signboard in Brugge; it warns visitors of the nest, and seeks a witcher's help."-spoilers! theres no nest
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 101





	luck (im all out)

**Author's Note:**

> there are mentions of starvation, and bad eating habits- if thats something that makes you uncomfortable feel free to just click out of this!  
> no i did not research poison, yes we Are going to ignore any inconsistencies for my sanity

"We haven't parted," Geralt mutters one afternoon when the sun is setting. It's early leave, earlier than the days passed, signals the coming end of summer. Geralt will miss the warm breeze, the hot rays on his skin, the bright early mornings.

"We haven't," Jaskier replies as he wipes down his lute with a clean rag. A little greenfly trails up his arm, and Jaskier blows it away carefully before resuming his work. "Haven't had any reason to, have we, my dear?" When Geralt looks to Jaskier, he's smiling at him, so sweetly he can't handle the gaze. He hums, a little strained, and shuffles to rest his head on Jaskier's shoulder. "Maybe we've just been lucky," Jaskier murmurs.

_Lucky? He wants to ask._

Jaskier glances down at him with a smile, something so soft and small that Geralt has an obligation to kiss him. So he does.

 _Lucky,_ he thinks.

_I want to stay lucky._

-

He won't. Destiny is kind that way- always giving Geralt shit. Down south, in Sodden, there's a contract for a big, nasty nest of graveirs. He finds the post on a signboard in Brugge; it warns visitors of the nest, and seeks a witcher's help. According to the post, it's in a cave on the eastern side of town, which is odd because if the last few decades of Geralt's memory serves correct, the graveyard is on the opposite side of town. It could be some kind of trap, and logically, he shouldn't investigate. But it could just be a simple case of misidentification.

He has to go, he _has_ to- it's his fucking reason for living, to kill monsters, to protect people.

Geralt huffs.

"Alright?" Jaskier asks, walking beside him and Roach. Protecting people includes Jaskier. They're going to have to split up because he can't risk this being a trap and losing Jaskier. Or risk Jaskier watching him die. Knowing the idiot, he'd probably try to avenge him, and die alongside him. It's song-worthy, but not worth Jaskier's life.

They'll only be apart for a week or two- they can meet up again before the trees lose all their leaves.

"Geralt?" Jaskier knocks their shoulders together. "You alright, darling?"

Geralt hums. It's a warm day, bright and sunny and all the other things that come with these kinds of days, and Jaskier had insisted they take a leisurely walk, collect herbs and other natural ingredients for Geralt's potions. There's plenty of celandine and white myrtle around the area, so Geralt's not one to complain, He splits off the path to investigate a patch of flowers- white myrtle: the petals are good for enhancing potions. He picks a handful and places them in a small pouch for later, as Jaskier hums and starts up a small tune- "The white wolf, strong and burly picks a flower, dainty and pearly." Upon the last word, Geralt turns and motions him forward with his finger. Jaskier jumps back laughing, "No! Nope, I know where that got me last time, my dear!"

Standing, Geralt smiles threateningly with his teeth bared. 'My dear', _why do you call me such kind things?_ Jaskier's laugh dies down into a cheek-dimpling smile as Geralt takes Roach's reins and starts back into a slow walk. "You know," Jaskier says, tapping his lute, "You never actually told me about this- how you make your potions."

Because that's not something witchers tend to share. "It-" Gods, Vesemir would smack him for this- "It's not unlike those hair oils you make- the composition anyway."

The rest of their walk out of Brugge is spent with Geralt explaining what certain ingredients do, how the potions affect him, and Jaskier even has some ingredients that had been forgotten in the bottom one of his packs which he very excitedly gives to Geralt.

Geralt doesn't tell Jaskier about the contract stuffed in his pack until a week later.

They were in some tavern in some village. He'd told him, "There's a contract, just over in Sodden. It'll take a few days, some big hunt. You might be better off somewhere else."

Jaskier had laughed, "Are you trying to get rid of me?", but there'd been that telltale sadness in his eyes.

"No," He'd near snapped. "No," He'd said softer, taking Jaskier's hand in his own, "Of course not... It's..."

"Dangerous?"

 _Dangerous_ , Geralt thinks, as he approaches the cave the baron's guards directed him to. He doesn't even know what the fuck he's walking into because, like he'd remembered, there's no fucking graveyard here- it's on the opposite side of town. Dangerous? That's a fucking understatement. Hopefully, it's a nest of kikimore or something, but who the fuck would misidentify a kikimore as a fucking graveir? With Roach hidden away in some shrubbery, grazing happily, Geralt enters the cave.

"Could you get hurt?" Jaskier had asked quietly.

"That's just the way of a witcher," He'd shrugged, but the frown on Jaskier's face didn't ease. "I'll be careful."

Now that... that goes to shit the second he finds that the cave is indeed empty. No foul smell, no nest, nothing. Bewildered, but not yet panicked, he heads deeper, relying on his widened pupils instead of Cat to see in the dark. No use in taking a potion he won't use for more than a moment, right? Quiet, careful and alert, his eyes dart to every shadow, his ears focus on every sound. Distantly, faintly, there's... _something_. He strains his ears, focusing on that noise. Maybe it's water dripping... no, he's too close to the surface for that. Then, he can smell something- thinks for a moment it's just himself since it's been a second since he's bathed, but this isn't him. Sweat, and metal and fuck, fuck, fuck. Keeping his back to the wall, he peeks around the corner. Knights. Ten, maybe twelve. The amount someone who thought witchers were weak enough to be taken down by humans would send. Still, he didn't come here to fucking slaughter an army. Maybe I can just... leave?

"The witcher!" Someone snarls.

 _Fuck_. He casts Aard and bolts, ducks out of the cave and slinks into the forest near it. He can't run from them: anyone bold enough to try to capture a witcher like this is probably bold enough to send for a hunt- for him, for other witchers, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir and anyone else who knows him; Yennefer and Jaskier, both infamous enough to track down. He's not risking them to save his own skin. As he vaults over a large fallen tree and hides behind another, he's glad Jaskier didn't come with him because- "Well, I wasn't going to attend, but there's a bardic competition- nothing big or really important but... I'll be there - in Cintra, otherwise I'll just fret."

He wonders if Jaskier will win. _Of course he will._

Two men in clunky armour approach his tree, so he adjusts the hold of his dagger and grabs the first man who turns the corner by his neck, holding the blade to his throat, while he subdues the other with Axii. The man in his hold struggles.

"The baron of yours, what does he want?"

"Your 'ead," He hisses. Geralt rolls his eyes.

"Why?" He prompts, scanning the area behind them. Some of the knights must have headed back to the baron's house, or dispersed elsewhere to search. Only three remain in the area. When the knight stays silent, Geralt growls and presses the dagger deep enough to break skin. "Why?" Fear burns his nose, but the man is composed.

"You're gonna kill me either way, like 'im," He says, nodding to the man passed out on the ground. He landed a bit odd, might have a sore leg when he wakes. Sighing, Geralt retracts his blade.

"Not dead, sleeping. I don't kill who I don't need to. My only issue is with the asshole who sent you and your fellows to capture a fucking witcher. As far as he's aware, that's a death sentence. Either that, or he's just fucking stupid, sending what- how many of there are you, ten? You're lucky you found me, and not a cat school witcher."

The knight sighs and slumps in Geralt's hold. "According to 'im, you di'n't fulfil a contract for 'im a few years back, took the coin anyway. Been mad about it since. Caught wind of your presence in Brugge and set that 'ole trap."

Geralt curses. Must have mixed me up with someone... "That was stupid of him," He mutters. The knights have all left now, moved on to other areas which... just amazing job by the way, since he's literal yards away from the cave's mouth. Oh, shit, I hope Roach ran... Fuck.

"So..." The man starts, "What'll you do with me?"

_Ah, right._

"Uh- Do... I could put you to sleep for a bit- you won't get blamed for screwing up. Or-"

"Are you gonna kill t'baron?"

"That... depends."

The man laughs, "On what?"

"Whether he tries to kill me."

"Oh, he will. 'ad a cell set up for you, think he's gonna hang you, or behead you- I wasn't really listening."

"How's he going to subdue a witcher?" He ponders, mostly to himself. The man shrugs.

Hm.

Using Axii, he lulls the man to sleep and sets him on the ground, but not before asking "May I borrow this?" and taking his helm and thanking him for the help. For the last time, he checks the coast is clear and heads to the baron's house himself. He checks the spot he left Roach in, but she's gone. Fuck. It's not the first time someone has arrested him, not at all, and it's definitely not the first time someone's lied to have him arrested, but this whole arrangement? That's pretty new.

There are two guards at the front gates of the baron's house, who let him pass with bewildered expressions, and after that there are none, and he's faced with the baron himself, leaning over the balcony of his stairs, the moment he enters the house. It's dull, poorly decorated - Jaskier would absolutely rip into this place, he thinks with a smile - but it's still the biggest building in the town.

"I dealt with that nest you wanted gone," Geralt says. "Unfortunately-" He raises the knight's helm with his teeth bared in a grin. "It seems you can't identify graveirs too well because all I found were a bunch of your armed knights."

But the baron smiles. "And you killed them?" He asks, even though Geralt is clean of blood.

"Why did you set the trap?" He asks, stepping forward, he drops the helmet on the ground with a loud clunk.

The baron leans further. "Because, witcher-" He spits, "I intended to have you killed as pay back for fucking me over, but it seems that too went sideways! Luckily, you came here. Guards!"

Two guards apprehend him and he's about to get out of their hold until one kicks his leg and he falls forward before he can steady himself, hands held behind his back and a sword to his throat. Fuck. It's fine- he'll go to the cell, maybe get some fucking sleep for once, and escape. Go along with it and let them manhandle him so they underestimate him, use Axii to persuade whoever arrested him that he was never here, and they never knew him and replace the entire ordeal with a nightmare because they deserve it. No killing, unless he has to. Less work on his part.

"I fucked you over?" He snarls, hating that he has to crane his head even further to look at the baron.

"You didn't kill what I told you to kill, which is the whole point of you," He hisses, pointing at him with disdain.

"If I didn't kill something it was because I didn't need to. Because it was a friendly, sentient thing with a brain and feelings."

The baron scoffs, "Please! That thing had nothing of the sort. It was a blight to my town!"

"It was a living being. And I would have offered to deal with it how I see fit now, but judging by the tense with you speak, it's already dead."

"Yes, after you ran-"

"Didn't run-" He mumbles.

"I killed it myself. Now! I've had enough of looking at you." He addresses his guards, pointing to the west wing of his mansion to where he assumes will be his new cell. "Take him to the dungeon and bring his belongings to me."

"He didn't bring anything," The guard holding his right arm says.

The baron presses his fingers to his eyes and slumps against the bannister. "He's a fucking witcher - he brought something! Go and find his horse and tack. Now! And- fucking- take him away! Gods, help me..."

-

The guards handle him roughly, and lead him down a few corridors - tackily decorated - down some extremely creaky stairs until the guards attempt to throw him into the cell, but fail when he doesn't move an inch. He glares at them, and steps in. It's small and damp and stinking and barred with iron. Really, it's one of the nicest cells he's been in. There's even a palliasse! Oh how kind of them... That settles it, he'll sleep for a bit. They won't start trying to rough him up for at least another day.

The guard removes his cuffs - terrible choice - and lock the door. He sits down on the rough blanket - there's a _blanket_ \- cross-legged and asks, "So what's the food like here?"

Like planned, he sleeps for a day, but he feels no more refreshed than before. So he tries breaking out of the cell. No guards have been down since they left him yesterday, and he's getting really tired of whatever the fuck is dripping from the ceiling. The cell, despite its appearance, is fucking impossible to get out of. He can reach all the locks if he jams his arms through the bars, but as his medallion trembles against his chest, he realises they've been fucking enchanted, and he literally can't escape.

It's fine, he assures himself, it's fine. There's still another week until he has to meet with Jaskier again maybe he can just... sleep for a while. At least until a guard shows up and he can use Axii... Just... sleep.

-

Being a witcher and all, Geralt was trained to repress fear of any kind. Other emotions, unlike what the rumours say because they're rumours, weren't as stunted as fear because they are not nearly as dangerous. There are two ways fear manifests- in the very well known 'fight or flight' mechanism, and the lesser known - 'freeze on the spot and shit your braies" which is the way a lot of humans' lives end, despite what they'd like to think. And for a witcher to react like that in front of a grave hag, or a measly drowner? What would be the point in wasting rare herbs and brilliant mutations for that? So, not through mutations, but through what others who didn't go through the process would call 'torture', witchers, Geralt included, were rid of their fear. There's not much to say about the process, and Geralt definitely would never mention it to anyone - not even his own brothers, who went through the same thing- but if he ever was to talk about it, he'd joke about how he ended up repressing the memories of that process more than his actual sense of fear. Besides... it's not like his fear really left- Geralt very much gets scared, despite what he says. Not everything scares him, of course.

And he's not scared now, in this cell that (with a guard) he can easily escape from.

When he wakes, he has no idea how long he's slept for- could have been a day, but going from experience it was probably an hour, maybe a minute. There's not much light in the cell, nothing to help him count the seconds except for the ceiling that still drips into a puddle beside his foot - the rhythmic plop, plop, plop - but eventually even that cuts off at some point. The sound of a rattling tray being pushed through the small gap under the bars of his cell that rouses him from his half asleep state. That, and the smell of the nicest fucking food he's smelled in weeks. An entire fucking roast. He squints at the guard.

"What the fuck is his play? Fatten me up and then execute me like a pig?" He prods at the tray. There's no strange or bitter smell- no sign of a poison, and the meat looks well cooked. He takes a bite of the chicken. A little dry.

The guard shrugs and takes to leave, but Geralt stands and beckons him back.

"You need something?" The guard huffs, arms crossed over his chest.

Geralt smirks around his food, "Yes, actually-" He moves his fingers to cast Axii, "Open-"

Axii doesn't conjure.

_Fuck._

He tries again to no avail and his stomach drops, making room for a feeling he hasn't felt since Jaskier was attacked by the djinn.

-

Witcher's aren't known for it, but they eat a lot- much more than humans. The life of the Path doesn't satiate that hunger; the nearby villages and towns hunt most of the game, but that's where most of the contracts are. It's not a norm for witchers to travel with company- it's a dangerous life, witchers are a blight to society, the whole spiel... but also because with the severe lack of food on the Path, it's best to not have to share it.

Most days, Geralt goes hungry, more so than before he started travelling with Jaskier. Not that he blames the bard, how could he? They both need to eat, both need the energy -it's just that Jaskier needs it more than Geralt. See, witchers need to eat more than humans, bigger appetite and all that, but - like with sleep - they were trained (tortured would be a better suited word, but Geralt would never admit it) to stave off their hunger, to ignore the need and run on meditation. So, he always gives Jaskier a bigger portion of the measly hare or pheasant they find that day. He knows that Jaskier knows, even if he is sly about it. At taverns or inns, Jaskier will push his almost empty bowl to Geralt and say, "Gods above, I'm full. You can have the rest if you want- no use wasting food!" because he knows that Geralt will eat it, because he knows that Geralt was raised with "Eat everything on your plate, you never know when your next meal is coming," beaten into him. At first, he'd tried to refuse, insisting- "You need to eat more than I do, you're human." But Jaskier had just shoved his bowl closer with a face that couldn't be disputed as he said, "So are you."

Then, he'd started to try and hide his rumbling stomach, since that must have been what gave him away, but then Jaskier, stubborn and difficult as ever, told him, "You're not slick, Witcher, nor is my hearing as bad as you must think it is- take the fucking chicken."

He doesn't even try to suppress the noise now. No one's down here anyway. He's so fucking hungry. He's so fucking tired... drained of almost every sliver of energy he had...

The food was fucking poisoned; he'd figured that out seconds after he couldn't cast his signs. He'd tried them all in a panicked frenzy- Igni, Aard, Quen, all of them. He can't fucking conjure them. _Gods, what the fuck was that poison?_ No smell, no taste, nothing for a witcher to detect yet it fucked him so badly he can barely fucking stand by the end of a second week. Meditation slows it, he thinks, maybe it doesn't. Fuck, if he does get out he'll have to find it, interrogate the baron- _how the fuck did you get your hands on this?_

With no plan of escape, he stays in his meditation. No swords, no signs, no potions, no strength. He didn't have wit like Jaskier - Gods, he misses his bard - wasn't clever and deceiving like Yennefer, couldn't manipulate his way out without Axii.

He shouldn't have fucking eaten that goddamned chicken, the whole thing was suspicious. _What the fuck was I thinking?_

_I'm so hungry._

_I'm going to rot here._

_Fuck. I'm going to die of starvation. Or the poison. I wonder which will get me first._

_What a pitiful way to die._

-

The ghost feeling of Jaskier's fingers trace over his own. He remembers manicured, short nails and a mole on his left wrist. He always has an urge to kiss it. It's just a mark, an imperfection on otherwise perfect skin, but it's his favourite part of Jaskier's wrists.

He misses those hands, misses Jaskier. Will he ever get word of his death?

They'd parted, him and Jaskier, with a good fucking, and later on, at the junction in the road to Sodden and Cintra, a lingering kiss that made Geralt weak in the knees.  
-

"Where's my horse?" Geralt tries to growl, but it comes more like a half formed croak. He's slumped against the wall, kneeled on the rough palliasse. He's been meditating, trying to slow the poison as best he can. It's slowed him, though. Between meditating sessions, he keeps his body active, by pacing, by stretching, exercising. After a few days, he can't manage his usual routine.

"What?" The guard asks.

"My horse," He rasps, straightening up. "Did you find her?"

The guard looks confused for a moment, and Geralt can't judge him. A witcher in his cell, probably dying, either from the poison or from his execution- whenever that happens - and he's asking about his mare. "She's in the baron's stables." Geralt relaxes, finally.

"No one hurt her?"

"Unless you count the baron disciplining her," He shrugs as if Geralt isn't about to rip his fucking throat out. He needs to get out of here, for fuck's sake. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself.

"Has she kicked him, by chance?" No one lays a hand on Roach without consequences whether from the mare herself or from Geralt.

The guard sighs. "Twice." Geralt laughs, just a little bit delirious, his legs shaking with fatigue, anger and poison thrumming though his veins.

"Good girl..."

-

Someone's talking to him, someone's calling his name. The voice his so close in front of him that all of his instincts are screaming at him to fucking move, to get up, _defend yourself_ , but he can't feel his legs, or his arms. Should he be able to feel veins? I don't think that's right. There are fingers at his pulse point, checking for a pulse. It was slow before, now he probably feels half-dead. Maybe he is. Hands soothe over his cheeks, his jaw, and he knows that feeling very well. He knows those calloused fingertips, those soft palms, the cool metal of a ring. Sinking into the feeling, he's barely aware of the sting of light when a thumb pulls his eyelid up. His vision is too blurred to see much, but it's enough to confirm that - _oh_ this has to be a dream because-

"How... How t'fuck d'you get here?" His voice barely forms the words like he wants them to, and the end of his sentence is strained, hardly audible, but it still earns a familiar laugh that makes his heart squeeze, and this time it really does feel like he's dying. It takes an immense amount of effort to open his eyes, but once he sees cornflower blue he can't stop looking at them, as if they're a lifeline. Jaskier's sad- all creased brows and soft, tearful eyes, and a hint of dark circles that Geralt hasn't seen on Jaskier for years. He wants to kiss them, soothe them, but he can't seem to lift his hand.

"Are you alright?" Jaskier asks, which comes out like he knows it's a terrible question when Geralt is clearly not. Fatigued, Geralt shakes his head, only managing one turn. Jaskier makes a pained noise and kisses his forehead. He's demonstrated that affection before, many times, but... oh Gods it still makes his bones melt. In his drowsy state, he feels more tender kisses pressed across his face - his temple, the nook where his nose and cheek meet, and then all too soon, Jaskier leans back to ask, "What did they do? Have you been drugged?" He checks over his arms and lifts his shirt to feel his ribs and oh sweet Melitele, Geralt didn't think he could miss touch _so much._ "Beaten?" His voice is tinted with anger, and such sorrow.

"Drugged," He croaks, shakily contorting his hand into a lifeless Igni. "My signs..." Jaskier's eyes widen a bit, and he quickly moves to search for a small pack by his side. His potions. White honey, he needs -

"Drink this. This will work right?"

 _No fucking clue_. He drinks it anyway. It's the best thing he's tasted in... two weeks? Three? Gods, he's lost count... And, oh the poison is not getting along with his potion. Cursing, he tips his head back against the wall with a small thunk, drawing in an agonising breath between his clenched teeth. A shudder tears through his body. The feeling of bile creeps up his throat and he manages to keel over away from Jaskier when he vomits close to nothing, just whatever the fuck that poison was, and it comes out a black bile, similar to his potions effects. Jaskier's quick to comfort him, rubbing his back and holding his hair back as he spits. Jaskier wipes his mouth with his handkerchief. He helps Geralt sit back against the wall. "Thank you."

Jaskier hums shakily, trying to suppress tears, and lowers his head. Geralt knocks their heads together gently, so their noses brush. Jaskier rests his forehead against Geralt's, his lip trembling, and brings his hands up to cradle Geralt's face. Taking a deep breath, Jaskier asks, "Are you okay?", again, because now the question isn't about cuts and bruises and poison.

"Hungry," he rasps, and Jaskier huffs a laugh, and Geralt smiles, but then Jaskier's breath hitches and there's tears rolling down his pale cheeks, his whole body trembling.

"Fuck, I'm sorry I just - you weren't at our meeting place and -"

Geralt kisses him, his lips, his cheeks, and separates to hold him tightly. Jaskier buries his face in his neck and Geralt breathes in the most wonderful scent he's smelled in weeks, chamomile and fresh silks... and _blood_. It's just a hint, barely perceptible, but it's fresh. "Seriously, how did you get here?" He asks, scanning Jaskier's clothes for red specks. There's a splatter on his dark teal doublet sleeve when Jaskier pulls back a bit and shows off his other hand with a smile. He's wearing his family's ring.

"Disgusting," Geralt says, then grabs Jaskier's sleeve, holding his hand to his chest as he inspects it. "Are you hurt?"

Jaskier stills and says, "Let's just... get out of here, shall we?" He stands up, offering the hand without the stain to Geralt. Unfortunately, when one has been limited to... well, zero movement because he was meditating on his knees in a desperate attempt to not starve to death or die from the fucking poison, it's difficult to stand. Legs numb, he stumbles like a fawn the second he's vertical. Jaskier manages to right him and together they lug Geralt up the stairs. It's... not his best moment, but Jaskier, sweet and wonderful Jaskier is ever so patient with him.

Almost immediately, when the cellar door swings open, Geralt is hit with odour of blood, so strong that he has to cover his nose before he vomits again. "What-"

The baron's body, smattered with blood at neck and face, lays crumpled in a corridor, just a few paces down, near a low, decorative table. Geralt falters, and Jaskier freezes. "Did - Jaskier, what the fuck?" Jaskier doesn't follow him when Geralt stumbles closer to the body, using the wall as support. A slash through the neck, right at the artery. "Jask?" He glances back at the bard, who's staring with dead eyes at the baron. Jaskier's heart is beating too quickly for comfort and he almost loses his balance as he steps back, but Geralt rushes over to steady him. "Lark, did... did you kill him?"

He doesn't meet his gaze as he says, "Little bit, yeah," which is meant to be funny, but his voice is dry and distant. Geralt pulls Jaskier in, holding him tightly, and spins them so Jaskier isn't looking at the body. Jaskier laughs wetly. "The ring didn't actually work, I lied," He admits, taking in a shaky breath. "Forgot we'd have to walk this way." Geralt cradles the back of Jaskier's head, and murmurs,

"You did what you had to, and you saved me." Jaskier hums. "Right, I need to... Did - Where are the guards?"

Jaskier moves back enough to look at him without removing his arms. "It's night, my dear - not many around, and the ones that were had been sent away."

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

"We'll talk about it later," Jaskier dismisses with a very pale face and a trembling smile. Geralt rubs Jaskier's cheek with his thumb. "You should burn his body- we don't want any necrophages. Could convince someone he just.. went missing right? That we were never here? You can do that with Axii, right?"

He nods.

"Okay, I'll go get Roach, do you- want help?"

He shakes his head. "No, go find her - she should be in the stables attached to the house..." Then, "Oh, fuck, uhm... would you mind searching his quarters? For anything about that poison?"

"Yes, oh gods, yes, I will-" He's pointedly not looking at the body. "Herbs? Flowers?"

"Anything like that - I can't -"

"Have anyone get their hands on it, yes. I'll look." He kisses Geralt's cheek. "If you're finished before me, just go to the stables - I'll be fine and I know you love that girl very much and I think she'll have missed you very much."

At that, Jaskier heads upstairs, and Geralt drags the body out back and burns it - his signs are back, thank the fucking Gods. On his way back in, he finds a maid who he uses Axii on to make her clean the blood without any questions. There are two guards at the front door- the same ones from last time - who he manipulates as well, doing what Jaskier suggested. It might not convince the rest of the town, but it'll at least give them time to get far away. He catches Roach's scent, stumbles his way over to the stables.

The very sight of her almost makes him fall to the ground with relief, but he manages to keep on his feet and rush over. Fumbling with the latch, he opens the stall door and Roach snuffles and nickers and noses his chest as he kisses her head. Resting his forehead against her's, he rasps, "Fuck, I'm sorry, Roach. I should have gotten out when I could..." She doesn't seem all too bothered, judging by the way she noses at his pockets for food. He laughs, tears in his eyes, "I don't have anything on me, sweet girl, I'm sorry." He rubs the side of her snout. "Jaskier might have sugar cubes... always sneaking those like I don't notice."

After composing himself, he guides her out into the field, having found only a couple of his packs hung on the wall. He slings them outside by the stable door as he checks on Roach. She's been decently fed, brushed and cleaned, mind you not as well as Geralt pampers her, but good enough in his absence. He can't find any sign of injury, and if it weren't for the guard telling him, he wouldn't have even known someone had hurt her. Throughout his inspection, Roach turns and twists to nudge Geralt, trying to get sight of him. In the end, he caves, lowering one of her legs where he was checking her hoof, to pet her, and mumble, "Okay, okay... it's good to see you, sweet girl. I'm sorry." Roach snuffles in reply.

"Geralt!"

He turns to see Jaskier rush over with more bags in tow and a book in hand. When he gets closer, he slows into a walk and smiles fondly. Roach lights up again at the sight of him, which is actually surprising and Geralt's heart pangs at the thought of Roach being so alone for weeks. "Hi, Roachie!" Jaskier greets, dropping a bag to pet her ears. "I missed you, dearly," He says, "And you - I missed you too, Geralt. I found your stuff! And-!" He holds out the book. Geralt takes it, finding it to be a notebook, not unlike Jaskier's. "Last page he wrote on has... uhm, observations... on your condition, so I looked back a bit and there are references to a new poison his mage friend has concocted. Baron's dead, so we just need to find the mage, which -" He carries on, smiling pridefully, "Should be easy because the idiot wrote the address in there. Some town in Vizima."

"That's... very convenient..." Geralt says, a little lost for words. "Any other time I'd think too convenient, but I think perhaps this man was just... quite stupid."

Jaskier scoffs, and he smells slightly of anxiety. "Well, he was stupid enough to let me get close to him so-" He takes a deep breath. "Yeah!"

The smell of anxiety grows, so Geralt asks, "Can you help me tack up Roach?" So he can at least distract him from the burning embers beside the house.

-

That night, they camp out far away from the town - far away; he'd hauled Jaskier up behind him on Roach and let her sprint to her heart's content, seeing as she must have been all cooped up in the stables. Jaskier had held onto him tightly, laughing a little into his shoulder.

With the moon looming high, Geralt sits against a large tree, sheltered under its great canopy. Earlier in the evening, he'd gone hunting, despite Jaskier's insistence that he could do it for once. It's much easier being able to calm the prey before killing it. Melitele, he hasn't used Axii so much in one day. He caught two hares, one each, but Jaskier gave Geralt half of his own, which, as always, he'd tried to refuse, but Jaskier was adamant. ("You haven't eaten anything in a week, it's a wonder you're still conscious! Please," He'd said with watery eyes, "Just fucking take it."). He's still hungry, by the Gods he could eat more than enough for three men, but the hare will have to do for now. He doesn't mean to go into a meditative state, not really, but it happens instinctively. It's quiet, and Jaskier hasn't spoken in so long it's worrying.

Roach snuffles and trots over to Geralt. For a moment, he wonders what she's doing, and then she lowers herself to the ground- first laying on her legs and then rolling onto her side, head on Geralt's lap. He almost cries. _Weeks_. They haven't been apart for more than a few days in years, and he'd been missing for weeks. Tears well up in his eyes, stinging, and his hand hovers over her head. She settles more, getting comfortable, and sleeps. Helpless to his feelings, his eyes search for Jaskier, who has his hands over his mouth and nose, eyes wide and wet, as he stares at Roach. This doesn't happen often, maybe a handful of times over the years he and Roach have travelled together, and with Jaskier, this is maybe the first time he's witnessed it firsthand. Jaskier removed one hand from his face and points at Roach, mouthing - "Is she asleep?" Geralt nods, stroking behind his mare's ears. How blessed Geralt is, to have such a cautious mare put all her trust into him and sleep so deeply. She missed me. He hears Jaskier approach, one blanket wrapped around his shoulders and another in hand. He rests it over Roach, and settles beside Geralt, knees tucked to his chest. The smile that takes over Geralt's face is small, yet he can't seem to stop it. Jaskier wraps the blanket around Geralt's shoulder, enclosing them both. When he retracts the hand, Geralt tugs Jaskier closer by his waist and takes his hand.

"You're still wearing it," He says.

Jaskier looks down at the ring he dons. "So I am," He grimaces. "Feels... normal." But he takes it off anyway, and reaches for the ring Geralt bought him a couple of back from his pocket and slips that on instead. He holds his family's ring between his thumb and finger, inspecting it. Geralt looks at the signet.

"Why didn't it work?" He asks. Jaskier sighs and put the ring in his pocket, grabbing Geralt's hand again.

"The second I told him my given name, he laughed because he knew I'd been disowned, which is bullshit because I disowned them first, but..." He shrugs. "Either way, not really a viscount if you've been disinherited. So when that didn't work I panicked and..." He throws his hands up. "I don't know! I ended up seducing him..."

"Jask-"

"Please, I didn't fuck him, I wouldn't do that to you."

"Jask?"

"Yeah?"

"Was that... your first?"

Jaskier shakes his head and flops against Geralt, head on his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it. Not today." Geralt hums, displeased and horribly worried. The very idea of Jaskier being in danger without Geralt there makes him shudder. He presses a kiss to Jaskier's forehead, then, when Jaskier tilts his chin up, his lips. "Gods, I fucking missed you," Jaskier sighs, bringing his hands up to hold Geralt's face. "I was so worried."

Geralt hums, and kisses him again. "I'm here. I missed you too."

Jaskier shifts, pressing his hand over Geralt's ribs. He frowns into the kiss and mutters, "You've gotten really thin," sounding sad.

"That's bad?"

Jaskier gets a better look at him, moving his hands over his chest and stomach. He is thinner, not eating for a few weeks will do that. And he might be out of commission for a while until he gets that fat back, that energy.

"I like it when you come back from Kaer Morhen. Because you've been able to indulge. You need fat for strength just as much as muscle, darling. If I have to, I will start using all my coin for bigger portions for you."

"Shouldn't waste it."

He gets a slap for that- on the arm. "It's not a fucking waste, Geralt. Not when it's you."

Geralt hums. "You love me, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course I do," He replies in earnest. "I love you, very much, and I love Roach and I missed you both so fucking much and I was so worried! I thought- thought maybe you'd just... not come."

"That I just left you?"

"Yeah..."

Geralt kisses him, firm and loving. "I'd never do that to you."

"I know! I just... You know..."

"I do... Thank you for coming to find me."

"Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> the ending really... yeah. i just needed this finsihed and i had no motivation for a proper end  
> anywho hope u enjoyed!


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